Potential
by Extra-Flamey
Summary: An accidental murder, makes Strider the most sought after newsie in all of New York


Potential By BonBon Rated PG13  
  
Strider hurried down the block. She had stayed late at the docks to finish selling her papes and it was almost dark. Strider HATED walking home in the dark, especially alone. Most everything down by the docks was either canneries for the fish or taverns and brothels. Drunk men were good for business, they bought a pape then forgot they bought one so they bought another. But it was risky too. Kidnappings and rapes were frequent. Jack had told her not to go down by the docks alone but newsies were multiplying fast and it seemed every corner of Manhattan had at least 3 newsies on it. She couldn't find anywhere else to sell.  
  
As she hurried past Bill's Tavern she cringed at the sounds coming inside. Gunshots, whooping, and cheering filled the entire street. Reaching the corner, she sighed and allowed herself to slow down. She was more into Mid Manhattan now and there were more dimly lit homes here.  
  
Strider had paused to tie her boot when she felt strong hands grab her from behind and yank her into a dim corner. She shrieked in surprise. Then gasped for breath as she was thrown against the wall. She found herself face to face with Bill Iskra, the owner of Bill's Tavern and a known alchoholic..  
  
"hey blondie" he breathed grasping at her hair and getting in her face. ""whats a goil like you doin by my lil estabablishment ?"  
  
"I-I gotta get home now mister" Strider said, plucking his fingers from her hair.  
  
"No, stay a while blondie" he murmered and began kissing her neck.  
  
"Get off me" she stated loudly and gave him a push. He stumbled back but ot far enough back to give her room to run.  
  
He grabbed a nearby bottle and smashed, waving the broken end at her. She pushed him into a trash pile and started running but he flung something at her. It hit her square in the back and she stumbled and fell. Bill grasped her ankle and swung the bottle edge. Its bit deep into the side of her arm and she cried out in pain and surprise.  
  
Determined not to die, she fought desperately. She got in a few good punches and kicks. She was thankful he was drunk and therefore less coherent. She delivered 3 hard punches right in a row to him and then turned to run. But in a last attempt he through his body weight towards her and pinned her to the ground. Pulling back his hand she thought he was aiming for a punch. The the moon illuminated them and she saw the sharp bottle edge about to be plunged straight into her chest. As he struck, she grabbed his hands twisted the sharp bottle edge out of them. He smacked the side of her face and grabbed for it. Franitcally she struck him with it. His weight collapsed onto her and his eyes bugged out. She pushed him off of her and stood up. He lay unmoving, the bottle edge sticking from his chest . Her fingers were coated with thick red blood. Something shadowed her from the moonlight and Strider turned around. Giovanni Corinthos was staring at her with a hard look on his face. The guards that flanked him has their arms poised over their weapons, ready to strike.  
  
"Mr. Corinthos, I, he attacked me and I defended myself. I hope he wasn't a friend of yours." Strider cast her eyes downward. Gio Corinthos was a powerful man, head of a new sort of organized crime. If Bill Iskra was a friend or associate of Mr. Corinthos, Strider was certain she wouldn't live though the night.  
  
Mr. Corinthos just stared at her, his eyes burning holes into the top of her head. He motioned to the guard on the right and the guard stepped forward. Strider closed her eyes and held her breath but the guard passed her. He reached for Bill's wrist and then shook his head at Mr. Corinthos.  
  
"Well, that's interesting. Little newsie girl offing the best fighter in all of New york, and maybe anywhere else. Whats yer name kid?"  
  
"Strider"  
  
"nah, don't give me any of dat newsie name bullshit. I ain't da bulls. Whats yer real name?"  
  
"Becca" Strider murmered. Her mind was racing. Was he being nice to her for accidently killing someone? This was freaking her out more than if he would have just killed her or threatened her.  
"Tell ya what, Becca" Mr. Corinthos said, reaching into his pocket and producing his wallet. "You run along home to the Newsboys Lodgin House and maybe buy yourself some pretty things with this. I'll be in touch" He handed her a 10 dollar bill.  
  
Striders eyes bugged out. That was about a months work.  
"sir, I can't take this. What do you mean you'll be in touch? I didn't do anyting. W-what do you want with me?"  
  
"I'se not really sure yet. Don't worry, I don't intend to harm you. And you'll be taking that money. You're arm is cut and you need a doctor, and I've seen what you newsies live like. You'll need better food to keep up that strength. I've got to be going now. See you soon, Becca." He flashed her his best smile and disappeared into the night. Leaving a very confused Strider. Still stunned, she walked home and lay in her bunk replaying the night over in her head. The 10 dollar bill was safely tucked in her pillow case.  
  
The next thing Strider remembered was several pairs of ahnds shakin her. Shoving them away, she sat up and shielded her eyes from the sun. She found herself surrounded by Jack, Kloppman, Race, and Dutchy.  
  
"What the hell boys? Didn't think I needed all of ya to wake me up. I'm not that deep of a sleeper."  
  
Yawning and stretching she grabbed her clothes off the back of the bed and started to get up. Jack yanked har arm and she collapsed back onto the bed.  
  
"oy vey, Cowboy, whats the problem?"  
  
"Strider, what the hell happened last night? Bill Iskra's dead and everyones sayin you did it. Care ta explain?"  
  
Strider sighed. "He attacked me. I jist defended myself. And I'd rather not harp on the subject, it was just a horrible accident."  
  
"Told ya it was true, Dutchy!" Race proclaimed. "Now you'se owe me 50 papes."  
  
"You made bets on this" Strider glared at Race. "How could you? Of all the lowdown, idiotic, moronic-" Strider ranted.  
  
"now, now settle down dearie. Maybe you just better go back ta bed and get some more rest. Jack'll sell yer papes fer today."  
  
Kloppmann placed a calming hand on her shoulder.  
  
"I don't need sleep.And Jack doesn't need to sell my papes for me. Mr. Corinthos gave me enough money to last me a month."  
Strider was met with 4 dropped jaws.  
  
"Mr. Corinthos. Holy Cow! That mans money. Ya should see da money he makes at da tracks. A real gambler. How much he give ya?"  
  
"Hes a gangster. Why'se payin ya? He ain't, ya know, askin for something in return?"  
  
"oh, payin ya now is? Well you'se shouldn't depend on gifts for a living. If you're feelin well enough you'll see with the others then".  
  
"wow. A real gangster. I heard he has his own horse and carriage. And hes a friend of Pulitzer"!  
  
Strider rolled her eyes and let the boys speculate while she headed towards the washroom. 


End file.
